


Would it be a sin

by Warmybones



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Lingerie, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 18:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warmybones/pseuds/Warmybones
Summary: It had taken years for them to stop orbiting around the other—eons,Shiro loved to say,I have loved him so intensely it feels like eons—.Commissioned by @persephonea ♡





	Would it be a sin

Lance had become so used to the war that he had started measuring life in small mercies. That was it. Just tender, frozen moments that he could recall once he was finally taken down by a galra fleet. Once his life was bleeding out of a gaping wound, without giving him a choice. 

He had become used to that; to the fleeting moments, to the hollowness that came with hoping too much and failing too bad. Had become used to loving fast  _ and _ hard, always hoping to heal incurable wounds with touches, glances. 

Lance knew it was impossible to soothe the pain away, no matter how hard he hugged Hunk and Pidge, even Keith. No matter how much he hovered beside Shiro, anxious to see the pulling lines of his brow ease. 

Lance had never dared to touch him. He had wanted, of course— god, how he had  _ wanted _ —, but it had felt… wrong. Like he was upsetting a balance, like letting entirely too different colours blend together. So he had fooled himself, had decided that he could stop his skin from turning crimson, his heart from beating faster and how irrational was  _ that _ —

It had been enough; looking at Shiro’s profile, shielding himself in their team dynamics and wondering why unspoken words weighed so much, why they were so tangible in the way they created knots inside his throat.

It had seemed enough, until the day Shiro laid one hand on the curve of his throat, thumb pressing against its hollow, drawing a breathy sound from his lips. He had counted, mouthed the numbers with half-lidded eyes, honing in on the hot pulse point beneath his fingers and sighing as Lance’s heartbeats ticked by, hummingbird-like. 

_ I’m glad you’re alive _ , he had whispered with a small, shy smile, and it had felt like the current was trying to wash him away. 

Lance hadn’t fought it. He had let the quiet steel of Shiro’s eyes pull at his heart until it was knocking against his ribs, had let his ragged breath disarray the space between them. It had been a turning point, the start of a countdown that involved them dancing on tiptoes, watching the other— always watching— and feeling close, but not close  _ enough _ .

It had taken years for them to stop orbiting around the other—  _ eons _ , Shiro loved to say _ , I have loved him so intensely it feels like eons _ —. For them to finally collide together with the knowledge of a safe universe, of a war finished and buried. 

And it was two years later, two years after watching Zarkon’s reign shatter into pieces that found Lance toeing over the wooden floor of his home,  _ their  _ home, trying to stay quiet. He felt giddy, heat curling in the pit of his stomach as the sea breeze trembled against the bare skin of his thighs and torso, as his fingers played idly with the lace of his panties. 

Black, like Shiro had wanted. 

_ It would look gorgeous on your flushed skin _ , he had whispered against Lance’s ear hotly, as if they had been in the privacy of their room and not in the middle of a store. 

Lance had trembled finely, thighs tensing and cheeks flushing crimson red when the words have sunk in, a Pavlovian effect that had the panties crumpling in his hold as Shiro had scurried away with a light laugh. 

He had laughed later, back in their room when it was just the two of them, when it was just Lance working his thighs to make their lips meet fully, to get the new panties as messy as he could. Shiro’s laughter had been low, awed, just as the way he had touched him, cherishing him. Lance had understood then that his measurements of life were all wrong. Unfitting. There were no small mercies anymore, just an ocean of happiness that continuously threatened to drown him in warmth. 

And now, as he melted against the doorframe to peek out into the porch of their house, his lungs were begging for oxygen, fighting the tide that closed in. It crashed against his windpipe violently and dripped into his stomach in the form of molten drops of gold at seeing Shiro in his favourite chair, with his hands splayed over Lance’s old guitar. 

The sun was setting over the line of the ocean, bathing him in the same kind of gold that was warming Lance from the inside, but he had his eyes closed, caught up in the feeling of the breeze playing with his fringe, of the tight strings beneath his fingers. He looked at ease. Safe, as he should have always been. 

Lance shuddered, heart pulsing behind his ribs desperately. It felt like a daydream most of the time, to know that Shiro was his, that he finally had the right— when given— to touch, to press and not feel like he was upsetting a balance because this was  _ their _ balance. 

“Take my whole life too…” Shiro crooned, tilting his head up and smiling. 

Lance’s body pressed harder against the doorframe, melting against it as he watched with raptured breath the way Shiro plucked at the strings; fingers moving tenderly over them, toes peeking out from the hem of his pants. He tried to control the sudden surge of affection that rushed in between his bones, the need to touch the bare skin left by Shiro’s grey pants hanging so low on his hips.

He tried, but Shiro’s voice was low, lovely, and it seeped into every crooked corner of his soul, soothing it. The sound echoed the blossoming of fireworks, the birth of a world built on the ashes of a million stars. 

The happiness of the man you were in love with. 

His fingers continued caressing the strings carefully, coaxing sweets sounds out of them just as the light of the sunset caught on his prosthetic— his _ new _ prosthetic—, reflecting it and creating spilling patterns over the floor. It was supposed to be softer, more delicate, courtesy of Hunk and Pidge’s quick minds and Altean technology.

It was supposed to be a simple prosthetic too, not a killing weapon. Lance felt it in his core every time Shiro held him more tightly than he would have dared to years ago. Every time Shiro didn’t hesitate to touch fragile things— to touch him.

( _ You’re not fragile, my love, but I always fear I’ll hurt you. _ )

Every time Shiro played like this. 

“For I can’t help falling in love…” he sung, drawing the syllables out and creating intricate knots inside Lance’s throat. He tilted his head to the side, eyes sweeping over Lance’s form terribly slow before coming up to lock their eyes together, “with you.”

A breathy sound poured out of Lance’s mouth, feeling Shiro’s rich, scorching gaze on him and surrendering to the tremor that stroked down his back. Shiro’s fingers left the strings, a careful movement that Lance followed avidly. The notes hang in the air between them, voicing the tension that had sparked there, and Lance wanted nothing but to replace them with the syllables of Shiro’s name. 

He did so, mumbled his name before biting his lower lip when Shiro beckoned him closer with his fingers. 

“Come here, kitten,” he whispered when the last note had died down, letting his yearn bleed into the words as his control slipped.

The distance— that futile, stupid distance— disappeared with a few trembling steps, turned to nothing as Lance curled his toes in front of Shiro, as Shiro reached out to trace the edge of his jaw with tender fingers.

Lance leaned down, following the pull of Shiro’s fingers on his chin, and gasped when their mouths brushed together. He felt the shiver that ran through Shiro’s frame and moaned, pressing closer,  _ deeper _ , to shallow every shaky sound that spilled from his mouth.

Lance reached up, caressing his way across Shiro’s cheeks to splay his hands over the back of his head, to close his fists into its roots. His fingers tightened there, distractedly, when Shiro caught his lower lip with his teeth and pulled sweetly. 

It made Lance’s head swim, made him marvellously unaware of everything that wasn’t Shiro and the repressed mirth in the pull of his lips. He wanted to curl there, feel it forever against his skin, so he opened his legs to cage Shiro’s knees, wiggling closer. Heat flared low in his stomach when one of Shiro’s hands settled over his thigh, pressing there before caressing his way up with his knuckles. 

“You’re wearing the ones I like,” Shiro purred, thumb dipping inside Lance’s panties to caress the start of his thigh.

Lance opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and still couldn’t find the words to say. He was breathless at the feel of Shiro’s cool fingers on his skin, at the feel of the small circles he was massaging beside his groin, close, so _ close _ . 

“You like all of them,” Lance managed to breathe out, eyes opening to watch the utter adoration that was mixed with liquid hunger in Shiro’s eyes. 

“Because you look gorgeous in them,” he whispered, a secret sealed by the hissed sound of the panties hitting Lance skin when he pulled at them. 

He muffled Lance’s whimper with his tongue and traced the indents his teeth had left, feeling the way Lance’s muscles twitched beneath his fingers. His other hand came up, sliding up Lance’s other thigh to tighten around his waist, guitar balancing precariously on his lap.

The lace felt divine on Lance’s skin, Shiro noted, hands sneaking low on his back, lower and lower until he could cup the curves of Lance’s ass and make him groan against his mouth, hot and wet. 

“Weren’t you playing?” Lance panted, trying for cheeky and ending up a mess when Shiro’s lips slipped from his mouth to bite at his chin. 

Shiro nipped at the skin, left hand leaving Lance’s skin to grab the guitar and place it carefully on the floor. He pulled away, eyes trailing down and honing in on the lace strings that curled over Lance’s treasure trail. The sight knocked the air out of his lungs, and he couldn’t help but pull at Lance’s hips with gripping fingers until he had him on his lap, until he could lean down to press a kiss against his belly, to lick from Lance’s navel down to the fabric of his underwear. 

“I can play other instruments,” Shiro confided, breath tickling the exposed skin, making Lance close his eyes at the way liquid fire flared up in the pit of stomach. 

Clever fingers caressed the outline of his dick before palming it, and he arched at the contact, giving himself to the open mouthed kisses Shiro was scattering up his torso. His fingers tightened on Shiro’s hair, nails digging there as his knees trembled.

“Oh,  _ god, _ ” Lance warbled, circling his hips and moving against the spot where Shiro’s hardness pressed against him.

He felt a thrill run down his spine, coiling on his lower back as Shiro’s breath hitched against his collarbone, as he looked up at him with his pretty mouth slightly opened and half-lidded eyes. His thighs tightened on both sides of Shiro’s legs and he pressed down harder, pulling at Shiro’s hair to make him moan.

“Kitten,” Shiro whined, capturing Lance’s lips in a bruising kiss, desperate. 

He gripped Lance ass with both hands, digging his nails there and bringing their groins together, doing it once, twice, and a hundred times, until they were both shaking and scream into the other’s mouth. 

Lance was close, so close, moving his hips with the same cadence he knew drove Shiro crazy when he rode him, when Shiro told him he couldn’t stop until he made him come. He shuddered at the thought, toes curling and nails scratching blindly.

“ _ Takashi _ , I’m gonna—“

But Shiro beat him to it, body jerking against Lance’s and hands tightening on him like a vice. It was the sudden spurt of warmth against his groin that tipped Lance over the edge, body curling against Shiro’s as he let the hot tide of his orgasm wreck him. 

“—e you, I love you, I love you,” Shiro was whispering against his forehead when Lance came back to himself, kissing him everywhere he could and sounding terribly content. 

Lance smiled, soft and pliant, sighing at the feel of Shiro’s fingers tracing lines over his thighs.

“I love you too, Kashi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♡   
> You can find me at either tumblr or twitter (both @warmybones)!  
> And as always, comments are a blessing♡♡


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